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‘I thought you’d already said you didn’t want to spend the night in the emergency department. I might stab your foot with my heel.’
‘That’s a risk I’m prepared to take.’
She wondered if his words were intended to be provocative and Lina was unbearably tempted to take him up on his offer, but what would be the point? He’d already kept his distance from her since their intimacy on the flight and had made it clear that was the way he wanted it to stay. And deep down she was sensible enough to know that was the right decision, even if every pore of her body was desperate to feel his fingers and lips on her again.
But dancing with him would be insane—an exquisite kind of torture to be held in his arms in public. So close and yet not close at all. Their bodies touching and tantalising, reminding her of things she was trying very hard to forget. And wasn’t she getting a little tired of the conflicting messages he kept sending out to her? ‘I’d rather not,’ she said. ‘If you wouldn’t mind. My feet really are killing me.’
He looked shocked. There was no other word for it. As if no woman in her right mind would have turned down such an opportunity and Lina experienced a fleeting feeling of triumph of having asserted herself as they left the crowded ballroom.
But her satisfaction only lasted as long as it took to get in the waiting car, when she suddenly found herself thinking about all the balls Salvatore would go to without her and she got an odd, twisty kind of feeling in her stomach. Did all women feel this powerfully connected to the man they had given their virginity to, she wondered—as if they were joined by some invisible life force?
In the dim light of the limousine she was having to avert her gaze from the sculpted perfection of his profile and suddenly she felt a great rush of unwanted longing.
Stop it, she thought. Just stop it.
‘So, did you find the evening helpful?’
His question broke into the silence and Lina nodded, pleased to have some respite from the muddle of her emotions. She nodded. ‘Very helpful. Siena was really interested in my handbag.’
‘Your handbag?’
She held the tasselled velvet bag aloft, although all you could really see was the glitter of the beads and the shimmer of the tassel. ‘This. She asked where I’d got it from and I told her I’d made it
myself. She wants me to call into her studio tomorrow. Says she might be able to do something for me.’
‘Wow,’ he said softly. ‘That is some result.’
Resisting the desire to bask with pleasure beneath his obvious approval, Lina gave another brief nod. ‘Possibly. But I’m not going to build my hopes up until I’ve spoken to her.’
‘Very wise.’
‘Yes.’ Deliberately, she averted her gaze from him to stare fixedly out of the window as the San Franciscan night flashed past.
Salvatore observed her stiff shoulders and off-putting body language as she sat beside him and told himself he should be grateful she was sending out such an offputting subliminal message because, in theory, that should make it easier for him to resist her. But all he could think of was the growing desire which had been plaguing him with infuriating persistence all evening. He’d told himself she was still off-limits. That putting space between them for a while was necessary—for her sake mostly, so she didn’t start having unrealistic expectations. And for his own sake, too—to reassure himself that he could take her, or leave her, as he did all women.
But somehow the chic sophistication of her appearance was skewing his thoughts and making him rethink his decision. Because which of them was benefiting by his unasked-for restraint? Not him, certainly—and not her either, he suspected. Suddenly he wanted to peel off that armour-plated dress and feast on the soft flesh beneath. He wanted to see her writhing helplessly in his arms just like she’d done before.
‘Lina,’ he said softly as she turned her head to look at him. ‘Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you?’
He heard the shuddered intake of her breath. ‘I got... I got the distinct impression that was something you definitely didn’t want,’ she managed, as if the words had cost her a lot to say.
And something about her candour made him answer in kind. ‘I’m fighting it,’ he admitted huskily. ‘And it’s a battle I seem to be losing right now.’
Her lips parted in silent invitation and he saw them tremble as he reached across to trace their sensual curve with the pad of his thumb. And when he replaced his thumb with the slow brush of his mouth, he could feel the instant jerk of lust—as powerful as if he were a teenager who’d just discovered sex. It was the slowest kiss in the world and it was also the hottest. Before too long she was clawing at his shoulders and he was pushing her back against the seat, his hands all over the rich satin of her gown. He could hear her murmured little moans urging him on and he wanted to touch her bare skin. He wanted to do that so badly. But the dress was stretched tightly across her thighs and what he emphatically did not want was an undignified struggle.
‘I have no intention of doing it in the car,’ he said evenly. ‘Even if you didn’t happen to be wearing the world’s most constricting dress.’
‘I knew you didn’t like it.’
‘I don’t give a damn about your dress, other than the fact it’s in the way. It needs to be removed as quickly as possible and I think that could best be done in the comfort of my bedroom.’ He paused. ‘Unless you have a better idea?’
He could see the faint doubts which drifted across her face, like the flashes of gold from the passing streetlights. He could banish those doubts by telling her stuff she wanted to hear. Weasel words and soft enticements. Things he didn’t mean. Things he could never mean. But he had never made false promises to get a woman in his bed and he never would. Either she accepted him for the man he was, or she got nothing.
She was sitting perfectly still and the intricate confection of her dark hair made her look like a cool and beautiful stranger. ‘I can’t think of one,’ she said, in a whisper.
As the car swung in through the electric gates and security lights illuminated the grounds, Salvatore felt the heavy beat of anticipation. The house was quiet as he took Lina up to his private suite, as he had taken women there many times before, but never had he felt this hungry. He offered her a drink but when she refused he was glad, leading her straight into the bedroom, taking the small velvet bag from her hands and placing it on a nearby chair.
He bent his head, kissed her and began to undress her, sliding down the zip of the fitted dress with a little difficulty until the rich fabric concertinaed to the ground, leaving her wearing underwear which was almost certainly new. Salvatore’s eyes narrowed. The delicate bra and matching thong panties undoubtedly made the most of her curves—so why had he started to ache with something which felt like nostalgia for the no-nonsense white knickers he had encountered on the plane?
